Sometimes, Artemis would still have nightmares about his fifteenth birthday. When everything bad had happened to him in but thirteen hours, across the span of what seemed like moments. Often, he would clamber into bed with his man-servant, shaking like the one resilient leaf in a level five tornado, but the only thing Butler could do for him was hold him close and whisper some sleepy reassurances to him. No matter how childish Artemis found it, to be reduced to nothing by the exuberance of his own memories, he couldn't stave off the nonsensical fear the memories enticed within him unless his bodyguard were there, firmly pulling him into a protective hold, flat against his own body, resting his chin lightly on the crown of the boys head. And he would drift to sleep there, In the mans arms, Dreams filled with memories of the times they had spent together that didn't involve fighting, fear or unknown assailants coming at him from all corners.
After finishing book seven in but eleven hours I felt so very inclined to write this. I'm a bit uncomfortable with my own writing skills when it comes to anything but I was awfully proud of this one, and its not even that good. A bit more then a drable at 164 words, but I suppose you'll have to deal with it. Besides, what else am I to do when I'm bedridden with a possibly fractured ankle?